


On Your Side

by perfect_plan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, Homophobia, M/M, homophobic language/behaviour, small town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:20:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6527227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfect_plan/pseuds/perfect_plan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers moves to a new town and becomes curious about Bucky Barnes, an outsider who keeps himself to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Your Side

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably going to be the last fic I post for a while as my personal life is about to get all kinds of crazy. 
> 
> As always, there are things about this fic that I feel could use work but I'm happy to let you guys make up your minds as to what you think about it. Hopefully it won't be too long before I can write again as I have plenty of ideas - time just won't be on my side is all!
> 
> I've been obsessed with Baby Blue by Badfinger since the end of Breaking Bad and have been looking for an excuse to work it in to a fic since.

Steve finished moving into his new apartment on Saturday evening. He'd pretty much done everything himself, borrowing Clint's van for his furniture and he had ridden his bike over the day before and put it in the garage. He had bought a cheap car for work though; the bike wouldn't always be appropriate. Clint said he would pick up the van tomorrow so Steve wouldn't have to mess around, since he was in the next town over which was good of him. Steve was way too tired to think about anything that night and ate take-out before pretty much passing out in bed, determined not to sleep on it unmade and barely throwing down the freshly covered duvet before clambering in.

It hit Steve Sunday morning when he woke up and stumbled into the kitchen/living room to make coffee and saw all of his stuff somewhere completely different: His life with Sam was over. To be fair, it had been over for a while but the two of them had struggled on, resolutely hoping that something could be salvaged but the flotsam and jetsam of their relationship had already been up to their knees and they had finally called it a day. It had been amiable at least; the division of possessions had been easy and fair, they weren't angry with each other but decided to leave it a while before getting in contact again. Steve had moved out and crashed on Clint's couch for a few months.

He leaned on the door frame and sighed. The apartment had been a steal really; a modern build in an "upcoming and exciting town" and everything was clean and white. Steve would have preferred a house but a job had come up at the high school and this had been available. He didn't know Woodbury all that well but he had thought that a fresh start would be the better option. Less chance of running into Sam and less chance of things turning sour if he did. He wanted them to eventually be friends and space was the best thing for both of them at the moment.

He made a pot of coffee and started to sort out the living room in his underwear.

***

"Nice place," Clint said that evening, whistling at the brand new kitchen with it's shiny worktops and huge refrigerator.

Steve shrugged. "Needs some personality but it'll do."

Clint laughed. "Hey, I'll swap with you if you don't like it. I made three new cockroach pals today."

They ate dinner and watched some god-awful ninja movie on Netflix. At least the wifi signal was good.

"Saw Sam this morning," Clint said as he leaned back against the couch cushions.

Steve swigged his beer. "Yeah? How is he?"

"Looks good. Work's going well."

Steve just nodded, fixed on the TV. Clint laughed and Steve turned to look at him, eyes narrowed.

"Don't give me that look," Clint said. "He's as miserable as you are if that makes you feel any better."

Steve laughed softly. "Kind of does."

Clint clapped him on the shoulder. "You guys made the right decision. It wasn't working and you were both unhappy. It's gonna take time."

"I know. It's just...I don't miss his bullshit but I miss him. I don't think he feels the same way about me and _my_ bullshit."

"He does," Clint said gently. "You'll be able to see each other again. You just need space. Don't try and rush or it won't work. Whenever you feel the urge to call or text him, call or text me instead."

Steve smiled. "Thanks Clint."

Clint heaved himself up. "I'd better make a move."

They hugged at the door and Clint left, promising to call in the week. Steve gathered up the dinner things and loaded the dishwasher whilst trying not to think too much about everything. It didn't work.

***

The position at Woodbury District High School came up at just the right time: Steve's contract at his previous school had ended and so had his relationship with Sam. It had seemed like the perfect time to up stakes and start anew. He looked around with interest as he drove through Woodbury; it was an old town but was fast becoming popular with a new generation and independent coffee shops were popping up alongside general stores more than five times their age. Whilst there was a good number of younger families who had moved from the city looking for a less hectic way of life, Woodbury still had plenty of good old boys and residents less inclined to ask for a soy milk latte, let alone ever try one. Steve thought he could get on here.

The high school was large and very much sports centric - Friday night football games were still high priority for most of the town - but Steve was determined to make more of the arts program which hadn't been bad to begin with but was obviously seen as the easy ticket class. He had been to the school a couple of times to meet the other members of staff so it wasn't particularly nerve-wracking; he brought in a huge box of donuts which was very much appreciated and then got stuck in to work.

The next two weeks passed by in a blur: He figured out which kids were serious about art and which ones were looking for an easy grade and made it clear that there were no easy grades in his studio. He confiscated sixteen cell phones being used in class and managed to establish by the end of the first week that he was a teacher who would take no shit. Going into the staff lounge for lunch one afternoon, he heard a girl mutter to her friend as they were passing: "Mr Rogers is hot and all but he's a total hard-ass." He had smiled: Just because he had the good boy looks, didn't mean he had the good boy temperament.

"I think you're going to fit in just fine here, Steve," the Principal had told him with a slap on the back.

It was when he got back to his apartment one Friday night that he realized he didn't have a clue what to do with himself at the weekend. His evenings and weekends so far had been filled with lesson plans and unpacking the rest of his stuff, occasionally tinkering with his motorbike, but now he finally had a free weekend and no idea what to fill it with. Steve stared at the immaculate apartment; he didn't want to hang out here tonight. After dinner, maybe he could take a walk into town, find somewhere to have a drink. Tomorrow morning he could go running and get breakfast at the diner he kept passing on his way to work. He wanted to establish himself as part of the community, carve out some identity for himself. The last few years, his identity had been so engrained with Sam's that being on his own again was a bit of a system shock; it still felt a little odd not to be part of a unit. He had to figure out who Steve Rogers was without Sam Wilson.

He made himself dinner and then had a shower and changed into a nice shirt and jeans and headed out.

***

The bar looked a little sketchy from the outside and Steve was half expecting everyone to stop and stare at him when he walked in, music screeching to a halt like it did in the movies, but no-one did. There was a good mix of people in there - obvious townies, a smattering of hipsters - and the atmosphere felt pleasant. Steve breathed a sigh of relief and found a seat at the bar. A waitress with a shock of red hair and freckles came over with a smile. Her name tag read _Erica_.

"Hey. What can I get you?"

"Um, I'll have a beer please. Whatever's most popular," Steve replied.

Erica grinned and wiped her hands on her apron. "Coming right up. You new in town? Haven't seen you in here before."

Steve nodded. "Couple of weeks. I just started working at the high school."

Erica raised an eyebrow and gave him a once over. "Phys Ed?"

"No, art."

Erica placed his beer in front of him. "Pity," she said with a smirk and wandered off to serve another customer before Steve could reply.

He had a look around; there were groups of people sat in booths, drinking and eating burgers. There were four pool tables over at the far end of the bar, the clack of pool balls being hit accompanied by raucous laughter. Maybe he'd go over in a bit and see if he could join a game. A few college kids were sat to his right at the bar, chatting amiably. At the far end of the bar to his left, a guy sat alone, baseball cap pulled down over long brown hair, staring into his beer.

"I'd steer clear of that guy if I were you." Erica was back in front of him, eyes narrowed and sneering at the guy.

Steve was a little taken aback. Before he could reply, she leaned in and said, not too quietly, "That's Bucky Barnes. He's pure white trash and not worth anyone's time."

Steve immediately bristled. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was people badmouthing other people without just cause. Even then, he still didn't like it. Before he could stop himself, he said, "I'm sure he could say the same for some people.

If Erica caught the note of annoyance in his voice, she chose to ignore it. She turned and walked over to serve another customer. Steve turned to look at the guy again and he was watching Steve, face neutral. Steve offered what he hoped was a shrug that said both Sorry and I Don't Listen To That Kind Of Crap. The guy just pulled out his wallet, threw a twenty on the bar and left. Steve watched him leave until the bar door swung shut behind him, feeling bad. The guy had just been minding his own business as far as he could tell. He saw Erica approaching him again out of the corner of his eye and slid off of his bar stool and headed over to the pool tables, not wanting to hear what she had to say next and making a mental note to try and not speak to her again if he could ever help it.

A game was just wrapping up, one guy with a handlebar moustache was counting a wad of bills with a big grin as a few of the others swore at him, setting up another game.

"You want to play?" one of the guys asked when he noticed Steve hovering.

"Sure," he said.

"It's a stakes game," the guy with the moustache said. "Twenty bucks."

Steve pulled a twenty out of his pocket and threw it on the table. "I haven't played for a while."

They all smirked at each other and Steve tried not to smile back. Sure, he hadn't played for a while but that didn't mean he wasn't any good. He was happy to let the other guys think otherwise though.

An hour and a half later, Steve had two hundred dollars he didn't have at the beginning of the evening.

"Son of a bitch," the guy with the moustache - Dugan, Steve had heard one of the others call him - said, annoyed, but not angry as Steve lay his cue on the table with a grin.

"Watch it," said Morita, indicating to Steve, "he looks like he could clock you one with those arms of his."

Dugan snorted. "Yeah, yeah. You giving up already?" He eyed Steve, almost daring.

"I think so," said Steve. He put sixty bucks on the table. "Have a couple of rounds on me."

The other guys laughed and Dugan folded his arms but smiled. "Cocky asshole. If you want a rematch, we're in here most evenings. Friday and Saturday nights for sure."

Steve smiled and held out his hand. "I'd like that. I'm Steve Rogers."

Dugan shook Steve's hand. "Tim Dugan. I plan to win my money back."

Steve pocketed his winnings. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll be giving the rest of this to the high school's refugee food drive."

"Ugh, make me feel like an asshole why don't you."

"I'll donate it in your name."

Dugan laughed. "You've got some balls. See you around, Rogers." 

Steve paid his tab at the bar and left, grateful for the cool night air as he began to walk home, wondering about the guy at the bar.

***

He saw Bucky Barnes three days later. He had decided to have his lunch in town rather than at the high school; it had been one of those mornings and he wanted a burger and fries more than anything. He was just finishing up his milkshake in the diner when he spotted a red pick-up truck parked across the street in front of the hardware store. J.BARNES: REPAIRS, LANDSCAPING, BUILDING was printed on the door in white letters. Steve wondered if this was the same Barnes from the bar the other night. A second later, he saw a familiar baseball cap as Barnes came out of the hardware store with a paper bag. He climbed into the pick-up and drove away.

***

"Do you know Bucky Barnes?" Steve asked Bruce Banner, head of the science department, on his break in the staff room the next day.

Bruce was marking papers, a cup of coffee balanced precariously on his knee. He didn't look up as he answered. "I know _of_ him. He built my neighbor's kid's treehouse. It's pretty impressive."

Steve wasn't really sure where he was going with this; he wanted to find out why Erica had said what she'd said the other night but there was no way of really asking that didn't sound a little odd. "Is he reliable?" he said; maybe asking under the pretext of getting some work done on his place was less weird.

"As far as I can tell," Bruce said. "You need some contracting work done?"

"Thinking about it. I saw his truck yesterday. Thought I'd ask around; see what the local opinion was."

"Are you talking about Bucky Barnes?" Carol sat down next to Steve with her lunch. "My friend Jess had him in for some work. He designed and built her a new kitchen. Better than anything you'd get in IKEA. Don't believe any of the shit you hear."

"What shit?" Steve asked evenly, all ears.

Carol bit into a spring roll. "Oh, I thought maybe you'd..." she chewed and swallowed. "A little while back, someone started to spread rumours about Barnes - that he stole from the houses he worked on, that he was a drunk, some other crap - and he lost a ton of business. Jess says none of it's true and I don't believe it either. He's a little..." she considered for a moment. "He keeps himself to himself but he's a professional. Decent rates compared to some of the other contractors in town."

Steve nodded. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

***

Things got busy again and Steve forgot about Bucky Barnes for another week. He met up with Dugan and the boys for a few games of pool and he felt like he was starting to build up his life again. Clint stopped by for dinner a couple of times; Steve was hesitant to mention Sam and he knew that Clint wouldn't bring him up unless Steve asked so he didn't. Teaching was going well; he was engaging the kids and they knew better than to screw with him, a strange respect growing on both sides. Sure, there were still a couple of problem kids but Steve was enjoying himself.

Friday night, he met up with Dugan and the boys at the bar. It was his turn to get the beers so he left Morita and Jones arguing over who owed whom how much. Erica wasn't working tonight thankfully; a perky blond called Sharon smiled at him and took his order. He looked at the end of the bar at the empty seats and turned to Sharon when she came back with two pitchers of beer.

"Hey, has Bucky Barnes been in here lately?"

Sharon thought for a moment. "I haven't seen him around for a couple of weeks. Why, are you trying to get in touch?"

"Um, not really. Just...the last time he was here the other waitress was pretty rude about him and I think he overheard - "

Sharon's face folded into an annoyed frown. "Let me guess: Erica?"

Steve held up his hands. "I don't want to get anyone into trouble..."

"She was trash talking him, right?" When Steve nodded, she hissed. "Don't listen to anything she says. Girl's got a bad habit of doing that and she's been warned a few times." She sighed and put her hands on her hips.

"It wasn't my intention to - "

Sharon gave him a smile. "It's okay. I own the place and I'd rather know if my employees are being anything less than professional. Those pitchers are on the house." Before Steve could reply, she walked away to grab a couple of plates of food from the kitchen.

"Chatting up the barmaid, Steven?" Monty asked him with a raised eyebrow when he returned to the pool tables.

"Not quite," Steve said.

He was about to ask if any of them knew Bucky Barnes but Dugan threw his money on the table and snorted with impatience. "Are we going to play or not, ladies?"

***

Steve bowed out after three rounds, delightfully waving off the cajoling and swearing from the others and headed out of the bar to walk home. It was a nice night, cool and clear, and Steve was struck by how quiet Woodbury was compared to the city. He thought it would have taken him longer to get used to that but he liked it already; it was nice not to have his thoughts drowned out constantly by traffic noises or a steady thrum of people.

He was about to cross the street by the grocery store when he heard angry voices and the unmistakable sound of someone being punched. Steve's heckles rose and he immediately walked quickly in the direction of the noise. He'd always been called a do-gooder in school, the first to wade in and break up any fight and while it had given him a few black eyes and one time, a broken cheekbone, it had always saved someone weaker from getting hurt. Hell, he was a big guy, he could take it. And to him, it had always been worth it.

Steve rounded the corner by the store and sure enough, there was one guy already down on the ground. Another was pinned to the wall by two others, one of whom was already raising his fist.

"Hey!" Steve shouted and before the two attackers could even turn around, he grabbed one by the collar and flung him away and to the ground where he landed with an almost comical "woof!" and pushed the other guy hard.

He stumbled but didn't fall, glaring at Steve angrily. "What the fuck? This isn't your fight!"

Steve took a confident step towards him. "It is now."

The attacker on the ground picked himself up and spat in Steve's direction. "Eh, it ain't worth it." He was standing tough but Steve could hear the tremor in his voice; Steve was at least 6 inches taller than both of them and he wasn't exactly small everywhere else.

The two of them walked away, shouting a few choice insults when they were far enough out of reach.

Steve turned to the guy against the wall; he already had a hell of a black eye. "You okay?"

The guy angrily shoved Steve aside. "None of your fucking business!" He weaved a little, obviously drunk. "I can fight my own fights!" He gave Steve the finger as he staggered away.

Steve chuffed in disbelief. "Yeah, obviously," he shouted after the guy and put his hands on his hips. "Ungrateful prick."

"I could've told you that." Steve turned towards the voice; he had almost forgotten about the other guy who was already down. It was Bucky Barnes. He got to his feet and picked up his baseball cap where it had fallen off, his nose a bloody mess. "Who do you think punched me after I tried to help?" he muttered, watching Steve warily, brown hair falling into his eyes.

Steve shook his head. "Some people are just dicks, I guess." He indicated to Bucky's nose. "Is it broken?"

Bucky touched it gingerly. "Nah."

Steve reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his handkerchief. "Here."

Bucky just stared down at it, that look of distrust still on his face.

"It's clean if that's what you're worried about."

Bucky carefully took the hanky and wiped at his nose. "Thanks," he mumbled.

They stood in an awkward silence for a moment.

"Well, I'm going," Bucky said and nodded what looked like a thanks to Steve before heading over towards the parking lot where Steve could see his truck parked.

"Hey," he called after Bucky. Bucky turned and said nothing, waiting.

"That night in the bar," Steve said, unsure as to why he was saying this but wanting to say...something. "I don't listen to gossip. Can't stand it, actually. That girl was out of line talking about you like that."

Bucky gave a shrug. "It's no big deal." He turned and continued to his truck and Steve was left to walk home, even more perplexed by Bucky Barnes than he had been before.

***

Work continued and life continued. Steve caught sight of Bucky's truck a couple of times in town but didn't run into him for the next week or so. He struck a solid friendship with the guys at the bar and had begrudgingly attended a couple of high school football games to show his camaraderie to his students and the faculty and found that it was appreciated; he had been accepted into the school and community and he thought that this had been the right choice. Woodbury was starting to feel like home.

It was a Saturday afternoon a couple of weeks after his run-in with Bucky when he finally interacted with him again. Steve was just leaving Wal-Mart with his groceries when he noticed Bucky's red pick-up being hauled onto a Triple A flatbed in the parking lot over by Home Depot. Bucky was watching grimly, hands clenched into fists at his sides. From where Steve was, he could see that the tyres had been slashed. Not just punctured but _slashed_. Steve continued to his car and put his groceries in the trunk and then watched as Bucky helped the Triple A guy affix his truck to the flatbed and then exchanged a few grim words with him. Bucky shook his head at something and the Triple A guy nodded and got into the cab of his vehicle and drove off. Bucky watched as the truck drove out of sight and then removed his baseball cap and ran a hand angrily through his hair.

Steve had no idea what had happened but he got the feeling the tyre slashing was personal. Bucky seemed angry but also like he wasn't surprised. Steve felt a pang then; this guy had no luck, it would seem. Maybe he rubbed people up the wrong way or maybe people just didn't like the way he did things. Either way, doing something that would no doubt effect his business and the ability to do his job was beyond shitty. Steve didn't like bullying, despised it in fact and this all seemed to feel a little like bullying. He locked his car and made his way over.

"Hey," Steve called.

Bucky's head snapped around, his face still flushed with anger but then he gathered himself a little when he saw who it was, his face falling back into that strange veil of suspicion.

"Hey," he replied evenly.

"Couldn't help but notice your truck."

Bucky's jaw clenched. "Yeah," he said, voice hard.

"Do you need a ride? I have my car."

"No thanks," Bucky said. He frowned a little deeper.

Steve jerked a thumb back towards his Honda. "It's no trouble. I mean, unless you've got someone coming to get you and then I'll just mind my own damn business." He kept his voice light; Bucky looked all but ready to bolt.

Bucky kicked at the asphalt with the toe of his boot and flashed Steve another guarded stare. "I always seem to run into you at the worst times."

"Yeah, I...yeah," Steve said and he suddenly felt a little stupid. "I'm sorry, I'll mind my own business." He turned and started back to his car.

"Wait," Bucky called and Steve looked over his shoulder.

Bucky kind of flapped his arms at his sides and sighed. "A ride would be great." He sounded resigned more than grateful but Steve would take it. He nodded and Bucky followed him to his car.

"I'm Steve Rogers, by the way," Steve said as he unlocked his door.

"Bucky Barnes," Bucky replied and got in the passenger side.

When they were about to pull out of the parking lot, Steve said, "So where am I going?"

Bucky nodded straight ahead. "Just follow route 40."

"Okay," Steve said. It was the complete opposite direction to where he was going but he didn't care all that much.

For the first few minutes of the drive they said nothing to each other; Steve just drove, hoping that Bucky would tell him where to go.

"I should have said thank you," Bucky finally said. "That night you broke up the fight. So, um, thanks."

Steve gave him a small smile. "You're welcome."

"Your hanky was ruined. I tried to clean it but...I'll get you a new one." Bucky was staring straight ahead, his frown now more laced with worry than anger.

"Don't worry about it. It wasn't like it was a family heirloom or anything."

Bucky gave the ghost of a smile and Steve was pleased. He didn't want this all to be a lost cause. He actually wasn't sure why reaching out to Bucky was so important to him. It wasn't pity; he got the feeling that pity was the last thing that Bucky wanted.

"When will your truck be good to go?" Steve asked.

Bucky shrugged. "Couple of days. I've lost out on some work because of it."

"It looked deliberate," Steve said carefully.

"Oh, it was," Bucky snorted ruefully.

"You know who did it?"

Bucky leaned back against the head rest. "Yep."

Steve then realized that this must have happened before and he felt his own anger rise again. Sure, he didn't even know Bucky but he didn't think he was the type to go out looking for trouble or deliberately set out to piss people off.

"Why don't you call the police?"

"It's not worth it," Bucky said quietly and that seemed like a punctuation for this particular thread of the conversation to stop.

Steve was just about to make some more small talk when Bucky seemed to stiffen slightly in his seat. "Anywhere up here is good."

Steve looked at the road ahead; there was some woodland to his left and he could just make out a mailbox at the side of a dirt track leading into the trees.

"Up here? I can take you all the way. I don't mind."

Bucky just shrugged again.

Steve turned off down the track and followed it until he realized the reason why Bucky had asked to drop him off on the highway. Steve mentally berated himself. Bucky's home was a trailer set in a neat little patch of cleared woodland. There was a large workshed close by and various building projects covered with tarps. There was a small garden off to the side, tidy and cared for. The trailer itself was large and well-kept but Bucky had obviously been embarrassed enough that he hadn't wanted Steve to see where he lived.

"Wow, nice bit of land you got here," he said as he brought the car to a stop. "Do you own it?"

Bucky nodded. "Most of the woods too."

"Makes me wish I hadn't gone for an apartment." Steve smiled.

Bucky didn't smile back. "Thanks for the ride. I'll see you around." He opened the car door and stepped out, closing it before Steve had a chance to reply.

Steve sighed and started to back up until he had enough room to turn around, watching in his rear-view as Bucky went inside his trailer, not looking back.

***

Clint came over that evening for dinner and immediately knew that something was off.

"What's up, dude? You're doing that tense thing with your face and shoulders." He took a swig of beer and waited for Steve to reply.

Steve rolled his shoulders and let out a frustrated breath. "Ah, nothing really. Just...there's this guy in town I keep running into and putting my foot in it when I do."

Clint looked amused. "Okay. So why is it such a big deal?"

"It's not really."

"Steve, your military posture says otherwise."

"I don't know why it's a big deal. It seems like someone has it out for this guy and they spread shit about him and it just doesn't seem fair."

Clint nodded. "I take it this guy is totally innocent of any wrong doing?"

Steve rubbed his neck. "I don't know. I barely know anything about him."

"Is he cute?"

Steve glared. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I was just asking!" Clint said and shoved Steve's beer at him. "Jeez, Rogers."

"Sorry," Steve said with a sigh. "Just small town drama, I guess."

"Well, you're a small town boy, now. Have you got the latest episode of The Walking Dead? I missed it this week," Clint said, knowing to change the subject.

***

Work was busy again and Steve didn't have much time to think about Bucky, let alone anything else: somebody called in a bomb threat to the high school and they lost a day (the asshole was caught and Steve could have gone down the police station himself to throttle the guy), one of his neighbors managed to burst the water pipe in their kitchen and the whole first floor of his apartment building got flooded. Luckily, Steve was on the third floor but had to make do with bottled water and no shower for two days while it got fixed. By Friday, he was desperate to relax and headed to Sharon's bar.

Dugan was visiting family in Rhode Island for the weekend and Morita was away on a business trip so he played a few games of pool with Gabe and Monty. It was nice; they didn't throw in any money this time and Steve was happy just to be able to decompress. They called it a night early and Steve headed through the bar, planning to go home and maybe watch some TV in his underwear with another beer.

"Steve," someone called.

He turned and Bucky was there, sitting in the same seat the night Steve had first seen him. He gave Steve a thin smile and held up a hand in greeting. Steve brightened a little. Maybe he hadn't completely put his foot in it. And Bucky was approaching _him_ this time.

"Hi, how's it going?" Steve asked, walking over.

"Not bad; got my truck back," Bucky replied. "Gonna be working all over the weekend to catch up on the work I missed though."

"That's great," Steve said, tucking his hands into his pockets. "About the truck, I mean. Not the work."

Bucky nodded. He didn't look as wary as he usually did tonight. "Um, can I get you a beer? To say thanks for the ride the other day. I was kind of an asshole when you were only being friendly. I, uh, really appreciated it." He looked sincere, watching Steve with those steely eyes.

"You weren't an asshole. I'd have been pissed off too if someone had slashed all of my tyres." Steve said.

"Still," Bucky said, "it was appreciated. You want a beer or not?"

Steve smiled. He was kind of getting used to Bucky's brashness and had to admit that he didn't find it entirely unpleasant. Whatever Bucky was, he wasn't fake. "Beer would be great, thanks," he said, sliding onto the bar stool next to him.

Erica was working that night and Steve noticed that she avoided them wherever possible, letting the other wait staff deal with them. He caught a couple of angry glares from her and knew that Sharon had probably said something.

"How are you liking Woodbury, being new and all," Bucky said when they had drinks.

"I'm getting used to it. Work brought me here mainly but it seems like a decent place."

"And what's work for you?"

"I'm an art teacher," Steve said.

Bucky smiled then, the first real smile Steve had ever seen him give at least. "You don't look like an art teacher."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "What _do_ I look like?"

Bucky continued to smirk. "Football player? Lumberjack? Not an art teacher."

Steve laughed. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint. I'm a damn good one, too."

"I guess I'll have to take your word for that," Bucky said, adjusting his baseball cap.

Steve started to peel the label off of his bottle. "How about you? How do you like Woodbury?"

Bucky chuffed slightly. "It's a nice place if you don't get on the wrong side of certain people. Like any small town."

"What does someone have to do to get on the wrong side of people in Woodbury?" Steve asked, hoping the question wouldn't shut Bucky down.

Bucky turned to look at Steve and he thought he saw a brief flash of worry, but then Bucky's eyes were hard again. "Be themselves."

Steve took a swallow of beer. "Bad luck for me, then."

Bucky smirked again and they sat in companionable silence as they finished their drinks.

***

They greeted each other whenever they crossed paths in town over the next week. Bucky would nod and smile from his truck as he passed Steve and Steve would return it. One afternoon, Steve made a trip into town at lunch to pick up some art supplies for himself, eager to get sketching again after a long lull. As he left the art store, he saw Bucky loading some timber into the bed of his truck outside of the hardware store. He headed across the street.

"Hey," he called.

Bucky looked up and smiled. Steve liked that he wasn't so guarded any more. "Hey yourself."

"Work going okay?"

Bucky pulled his hat off and wiped his forehead. "Pretty good. Got a job on that'll last me a couple of weeks. You?"

"The kids seem happy with my work so yeah, I guess it's going well."

Bucky eyed Steve's bag holding his supplies. "Art stuff?"

"Oh, yeah," Steve said. "Just trying to get back into drawing for myself."

Bucky opened the driver's door and climbed in, one elbow resting on the open window. "Maybe you can show me when you have something worth showing."

"Maybe," Steve said and gave Bucky a little salute as he pulled away.

Steve was walking back to his car, mentally going through his lesson plans for that afternoon when a guy he didn't know stepped up to him, smiling pleasantly.

"Hey man, sorry to bother you. Can I have a minute?" The guy was tall and dark with eyes that looked furtive despite the breezy pleasantness of his tone.

"Sure, what can I do for you?" Steve asked, resting his bag on the roof of his car, a little antsy that he would be late back to work from lunch.

"You're new in town, right? I've seen you around and thought I'd introduce myself. Brock Rumlow."

Steve shook Rumlow's hand which clenched Steve's a little too firmly. Steve groaned inwardly. He was one of _those_ guys, trying to assert dominance from the offset.

"Steve Rogers," Steve said, doing his best to paste a friendly smile on his face.

"Look, I'll cut to the chase," Rumlow said, his voice low. "I'm just telling you this as a favor since you're new and all but it's not good to be seen around with Bucky Barnes."

Steve frowned and folded his arms, drawing himself up to his full height, on the defensive. He didn't like to be intimidating to others and he didn't do it often but he was liking Rumlow less and less with each second he spent talking to him. "And why is that?" he asked.

Rumlow obviously wasn't picking up on Steve's growing annoyance. "Dude's a..." He tilted a hand from side to side.

Steve felt his face flush with anger. He knew exactly what Rumlow was getting at but like hell was he not going to make him work for it. "Sorry," he said and shrugged in mock confusion.

Rumlow stepped closer. "He's a _fag_. Just watch your step. Be a shame if he tried to turn you full fairy."

" _Excuse_ me?" Steve said and stepped forward, finally unable to hold back.

"Hey now," Rumlow said, backing off a little. "Just a friendly warning."

"Well, you can take your friendly warning and get the hell out of my face," Steve said, his whole body tense with anger. "And you might not want to be seen around with me, considering I'm already _full fairy_."

He waited for the look of disgust to cross Rumlow's face before turning his back on him and getting into his car, throwing his art supplies angrily onto the passenger's seat, pencils spilling to the floor. He drove off without looking back, shaking with rage all the way back to the high school.

***

Steve couldn't stop thinking about Rumlow and what he'd said, running it over and over in his mind for the next couple of days. He hoped to god that all of Woodbury didn't share Rumlow's views but then all of that asshole's vitriol seemed to be directed purely at Bucky. Erica's too, for that matter. Carol had mentioned that other rumours had been spread about him and it just served to make Steve even more confused. Bucky seemed to be a good guy and he couldn't understand where all of this was coming from. There had to be another side to the story.

At lunch he sat next to Bruce, like he usually did. "Hey Bruce, can I ask you something?"

He must have said it with some intensity because Bruce, who usually answered and spoke whilst still reading whatever was in front of him, put his book down and looked concerned. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine. I just wanted to ask; does Woodbury have any uh, controversial views on homosexuality?"

Bruce lowered his book. "Not that I'm aware of; in fact, we take a lot of pride in being pretty liberal. Why, have you encountered anything?" 

"Not really, just...some guy made a remark the other day that rubbed me the wrong way and I've been stewing over it since." Steve deliberately left out his run in with Rumlow. "I was just worried that it might go further than one prick's opinion."

"Well, certainly not that I've encountered and if you hear anything being said in this school to any negative effect, let us know right away."

So Steve came away from that conversation with one conclusion: That Bucky, for whatever reason, had been personally targeted. Surely that would count as harassment? Why hadn't he done anything about it? Maybe he had his reasons and it was certainly none of Steve's business but the part of him that hated bullying was itching under his skin and for now, he couldn't scratch it.

***

Steve woke early on Saturday morning restless and bad-tempered. He got changed into his exercise clothes, fully intending to try and run off the feelings. He was still upset with the whole Rumlow thing and had no idea what to do about it so he would do the thing he usually did: Push himself physically until a solution presented itself or calmed him down.

He warmed up outside on the grassy courtyard of the apartment block and then started to jog. He didn't have a plan really but knew he probably wanted to end up at the diner in town for breakfast. Steve decided to run through the town park and follow the nature trail that seemed to be popular with hikers and dog walkers. He had no idea where it led but he had a bottle of water and no plans for the day. He kept his breathing steady, enjoying the morning air. He started to achieve that blissful state of blankness that he eventually fell into where all that existed was the pounding of his feet and the sound of his breathing. Running had always felt a little like meditation to him.

The trail eventually started to thin out a little and Steve found himself out on route 40. He slowed to a walk and let his body calm down, the sound of his heart beat loud in his ears, breathing deeply and steadily. Stopping to look around before he headed off back down the trail, he realized he wasn't too far from Bucky's place. In fact, he could see his mail box and the dirt track up ahead. Before he knew what he was doing, he started to head that way, hesitating only when he actually reached the mail box. Would it be odd if he just turned up unannounced first thing on a Saturday morning? He had a feeling that Bucky was an early riser like himself but that wasn't the point. What would he even say? "I was just passing by?" Maybe he was just projecting his own loneliness onto someone else and thinking that Bucky could use a friend.

Before he could second guess himself again he started down the track to Bucky's trailer. The track was shady and cool, the occasional rustle of the trees letting Steve know that there was plenty of wildlife here. It must be nice, he thought, being surrounded by all of this. As he neared the clearing, he could hear singing drifting up the track. He smiled, recognising Baby Blue by Badfinger. Bucky had a nice voice.

Steve saw him then, working on what looked like a dresser, planing the wood with long smooth strokes as he sang. He stopped and blew the shavings from the dresser top, running a hand along the grain and then continued singing as he put the planer down and brushed off his hands. Steve suddenly felt a little creepy, just standing and watching.

"I like that song," he said.

Bucky started and turned, surprise flashing across his face.

"Sorry," Steve said. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you." He held up a hand. "Hey."

"Hey," Bucky said and the look of surprise dissolved into one of curiosity. "What are you doing out this way?" He wasn't wearing his baseball cap and swept his hair out of his face. He appeared less guarded and his eyes looked more blue than grey in this light.

Steve shifted on his feet. "I was out running, kind of ended up here. I thought I'd just say hi." It sounded stupid even to him.

Bucky must have thought so too because he gave Steve a strange little smile. "That's a hell of a run."

"I enjoy it. I get carried away sometimes."

Bucky put the tools at his feet into a large red toolbox by the side of the dresser. "Want a cup of coffee? Pot should be brewed about now."

"Oh, I don't want to hold you up from your work..."

But Bucky was already heading to his trailer. "It'll keep. Come on, before I change my mind." He looked back as Steve started to follow him, still a little embarrassed by his home.

Steve stepped up into the trailer after Bucky and was blown away; it was like stepping into a designer's dream. Everything was streamlined and co-ordinated, with clever shelves and cupboards in white, built to make the most of the small space but also to uncannily hide any clutter from sight. The living area was spacious with a fold-out pine table, currently covered in design plans and scribbled notes. The bedroom down the end of the small hall looked bright and modern and Steve noticed the wood flooring, obviously chosen with care and worked to a high standard. It was like walking into a compact version of a high-end Manhattan apartment.

"Wow, this place is incredible," Steve said as Bucky made coffee in the spotless kitchenette. "Did you do all of this yourself?"

Bucky indicated to Steve to sit at the table, gathering the papers and rolling them up to make space. "Yeah. It was kind of an experiment. A lot of the kitchens I design are like this; space-savers, you know the kind of thing. People like their homes to be efficient these days. I'm good with stuff like that." He brought over two mugs of coffee, cream and sugar. "I like working with wood too, more traditional stuff."

"It's amazing," Steve said.

"Thanks. It's a living. I'm lucky that I enjoy it." Bucky poured cream into his coffee (no sugar) and took a mouthful. They sat in silence for a few moments and Bucky watched Steve with that open curiosity again. "What's up?" he finally asked.

Steve gripped his mug. "I...nothing. I was just passing by..."

Bucky laughed softly but it wasn't mean. "Yikes, you are a _terrible_ liar. You didn't just come running out here for the sake of running."

Steve sighed. He had to talk about this; it had been eating away at him for most of the week. "I was approached by a guy called Brock Rumlow a few days ago."

The smiled slipped from Bucky's face and he stiffened. He clenched his jaw and looked out of the window into the yard. "Were you now." His voice was low and hard.

"Look, I need you to know that I didn't take stock of anything he said. The guy was an absolute asshole."

Bucky wouldn't meet Steve's eyes. "What was it this time? Did he call me trailer trash? A thief?"

Steve shook his head and Bucky finally looked up at him.

"He called me a fag, right?"

"I hate that word," Steve said, "and I hate people who throw it around like that. I also don't particularly like people who spread shit for no reason."

"What makes you think there isn't a reason?" Bucky asked.

"Is it a reason good enough to warrant slashing your tyres? Brock did that, I'm guessing."

Bucky sighed, suddenly sounding exhausted. "Either him or his delightful girlfriend, Erica."

Steve frowned. "Erica from the bar?" Things were starting to slot into place a little, although not the reason why they actually had it in for Bucky.

Bucky nodded and looked into his coffee cup. "Yep."

"Surely this all counts as harassment? Why haven't you - "

"Because it's not something I want to get into, alright?" Bucky shot back angrily. "It'll make things worse and I just want to get on with my life. They...things had died down a little but now they seem to be ramping up again. I just want to be left alone."

Steve chewed his lip. "So what started all of this?"

Bucky was quiet for a moment. "Brock...he and I had a thing going a little while back. You couldn't even call it a relationship, just a bunch of hook-ups. One day he freaked out and decided that he wasn't into dudes and had a total meltdown. He started to accuse me of all sorts of crap; we'd kept everything on the down low and I think he suddenly thought I was going to out him or something and got really paranoid. We parted ways and I just wanted to forget the whole thing but then the rumours started. Brock began dating Erica not long after. I don't know exactly what he told her about me but I'm sure he left out the part where we fucked each other." He looked tired.

"Even after all of the shit that he's pulled, you could have outed him but you haven't. Why is he still doing all of this?" Steve asked softly.

"I don't know," Bucky replied, leaning on the table and staring at the wood grain. "I wouldn't out him; it's not my style. What happened between us was private. I guess he thinks I'm holding it over him, biding my time or something." He looked up and spoke before Steve could ask his next question. "I tried talking to him a while back but it was pointless - he's completely unreasonable, so I stayed away." He frowned. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. I barely even know you."

"You shouldn't have to be going through this," Steve said. Bucky was right, they barely knew each other, but Steve knew that Bucky was a good person.

Bucky looked at Steve with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "What are you, some kind of do-gooder crusader? You didn't have to tell me about what Rumlow said to you."

Steve just shrugged and looked down at his mug. "It's wrong, the way he's treating you," he said softly.

Bucky was quiet for a long time and Steve was just about to apologize and leave when he said, "Want to go get some breakfast in town? I'm starving." He didn't sound annoyed anymore.

Steve sighed, resigned to the fact that the Brock conversation was done, but smiled. "Sure. I could go for the works."

"And undo all of that hard graft with your running?"

"I'll go running again tomorrow."

Bucky locked his trailer and covered the dresser he had been working on earlier with a tarp. They climbed into Bucky's truck and before Bucky started up the engine, he turned to Steve.

"The whole Brock thing...people in this town either care about what he's said and stay away from me or they don't and continue to hire me. No-one's really given a shit about _me_ either way and maybe that's kind of my fault; I don't talk to people, keep myself to myself. Did you stand up for me? With Brock?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah."

"No-one else ever has. The folks in this town aren't bad, they just have their own shit to deal with. They don't need mine too." Bucky started up the engine. "But...thanks. I don't have many people on my side."

"You're welcome. You seem like an okay guy," Steve said with a grin.

"You're new here," Bucky said wryly. "The Bucky Barnes novelty will wear off."

Steve didn't think it would.

***

They went to the same diner that Steve had started to frequent for breakfast and as they were being seated, Steve surreptitiously looked around to see if anyone was watching. Not that he cared, he was just curious. A few people glanced up at them but for the most part, if anyone in there had a problem with Bucky it wasn't apparent.

Steve ordered the works, suddenly starving while Bucky ordered eggs and toast and watched in amused horror as Steve demolished the Jumbo Breakfast Platter.

"I have a high metabolism," he said by way of explanation.

"Sure thing, pal," Bucky said and shook his head.

They chatted for a bit about work and other small things and Steve was enjoying himself. He liked Bucky's brashness, the way he got to the point rather than talking just because he could. He asked about Steve's art background, impressed when Steve told him about the one gallery show he'd managed to secure in New York.

"I was convinced I'd made it," Steve said, pushing his plate away, "but hardly anyone turned up for the opening. I sold one painting all week and that was to my friend, Clint. I still don't think it was worth the money he paid for it so I'm constantly trying to make up for it by buying him pizza and beer. I got some work as an illustrator here and there and then taught some painting lessons at a community college and realized that was what I liked doing so I went back to school."

"And you enjoy teaching kids?"

"It's a challenge more often than not, but if you can get them enthused and worked up about creating then it's the best feeling in the world. I mean, you must know, being a creator too."

Bucky chuffed. "I'm hardly a creator."

"Sure you are," Steve said. "You design things, practical things and then build them for people who appreciate them. That's creating."

"I guess," Bucky said but he looked pleased.

They paid the check and left the diner. Bucky indicated to his truck. "Want a lift?"

"Nah," Steve said, rocking on his heels. "I'd better try and walk off most of what I just ate."

Bucky grinned and climbed into his truck. "See you around."

"Hey, I'm meeting up with the guys at Sharon's on Monday night for a few games of pool. You should come." He suddenly hoped that Bucky would accept.

"I'll think about it. Bye, Steve."

***

Steve was elated when Bucky actually _did_ show up at the bar on Monday, wearing his baseball cap again, hands in his pockets. Steve introduced him to the guys and if any of them had a problem with Bucky, they didn't show it.

Dugan walked up to Bucky and eyed him. "You any good?" he asked, nodding towards the table.

"I haven't played for a while," Bucky replied and Dugan barked out a laugh.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before," he said looking over at Steve who just smiled back innocently.

"You renovated my sister's basement," Morita said to Bucky, handing him a pool cue. "It looks great. The kids love the playroom."

"Thanks," Bucky said. "It was a nice job; your sister made me some amazing lunches."

They played a few stakes games and to Dugan's dismay, Bucky was a great player. The others all laughed as Bucky cleaned up the table and pocketed Dugan's money.

"Yeah, laugh it up assholes," he grumbled. "Who wants a beer?"

"Can't, early job in the morning," Bucky said.

Steve shook his head. "I literally have school tomorrow."

Dugan cussed colorfully as the others bowed out on the offer of booze too and went to the bar to get a drink. As Morita and Gabe set up the table, Steve glanced over at Bucky. His baseball cap was tucked in his back pocket and he looked happy, happier than Steve had ever seen him in a public place. He met Steve's eyes and smiled; a smile that was thankful and something else that set Steve's stomach fluttering. He smiled back.

***

They finished up around 11pm and Steve and Bucky watched as the others left, promising revenge on Bucky for winning all of their money. Then they were alone in the parking lot, the thump of music from the bar behind them, almost drowned out by the sound of crickets somewhere out in the night.

"I'll give you a lift," Bucky said, kicking at a chunk of loose concrete on the ground.

"Sure," Steve said and they headed to Bucky's truck.

Neither of them spoke on the way to Steve's place except to give or ask for directions. The radio was off but Steve didn't feel uncomfortable. He glanced at Bucky a few times and he didn't look tense like he usually did, just had his elbow resting on the open window as he drove. He was attractive in that way that people who have no confidence are attractive, like they can't accept that they are. Sam used to tell Steve as much and he still felt self-conscious about himself most of the time. Bucky had confidence in his work but Steve thought that he maybe didn't realize just how striking he was, how maybe that was part of what made some people in the town curious about him.

They pulled up outside of Steve's apartment building and Bucky killed the engine. "Thanks for inviting me tonight," he said, staring down at the steering wheel.

"It was my pleasure," Steve said. "I don't think Dugan appreciated it though."

Bucky chuckled. "I'll buy him a round next time."

Steve opened his door, not wanting things to get awkward. "I'll see you around?"

Bucky smiled that smile from the bar again. "Yeah."

Steve watched as he drove off and walked slowly around to the back door of the complex, wanting to look at the night sky for a little while and try to sort through the feelings he was developing for Bucky.

***

Tuesday was busy; Steve had been dreading several perspective lessons he was teaching that day, aware that getting too technical with art turned most kids away but to his delight, they ran with it and produced some amazing work. That would teach him to assume in the future. He spoke to the principal about trying out an after-school art club; the high school had had one a while back but it had been poorly planned and ran out of steam after a couple of months. Steve started to work on a proposal at lunchtime.

He left work feeling really good, pleased that the day had been an accomplished one but not for a second taking for granted that tomorrow would be too, and swung by the supermarket to pick up something nice for dinner, a steak maybe. He started to hum Baby Blue as he walked along the aisles and thought about Bucky and when he would see him next.

Steve was still humming as he walked out across the parking lot but stopped abruptly as he was about to unlock his car. He stepped back and looked at the word scratched roughly across both doors on the driver's side: FAGGOT.

Steve looked around the parking lot, the anger building up in him but there was no sign of Brock or Erica and Steve had no doubt that they had done this; had they seen him and Bucky at the bar last night and then leaving together afterwards? He unlocked his car and got in, putting his groceries on the passengers seat, clenching the steering wheel and watching his knuckles turn white, trying to keep his fury in check. He took a few deep breaths and started the engine.

***

Steve drove straight to the town garage and body shop, ignoring his initial urge to call the police because there was no point. Steve couldn't prove who it was and they'd file a report and leave it at that. He understood a little of why Bucky didn't want to do anything about the Brock situation now, waves of anger hitting him like slaps to the face.

The mechanic whistled when he saw the damage. "That's nasty," he said and Steve was grateful that he didn't just mean the paintwork.

"How long will it take to fix?" Steve asked.

"Can have it back to you by Friday? I wish it could be sooner but we've got a heavy week."

Steve sighed. "That's fine. I have a motorcycle I can use in the meantime."

The guy looked down at the scrawls again. "Sorry dude; things like this don't usually happen in Woodbury."

"I guess I got lucky," Steve replied grimly.

***

Steve riding his bike into work the next day caused an excited stir; he went from "Hard-ass Mr Rogers" to "Mr Rogers Is Frikkin' Cool" in the blink of an eye. Several of the boys crowded around, wanting to know what kind of bike it was, how long had he had it, how fast could it go. The teachers were all intrigued too and teased him the whole day. Steve smiled and went along with it but was feeling sick to his stomach about what had happened to his car. He didn't give a shit about the superficial damage; it was the venom behind it that hurt more than a dent in his wallet. He would be trying his best to stop Bucky from finding out about it too. He couldn't help but feel that all of what had happened recently had been his fault anyway since his encounter with Brock.

On Wednesday, Steve rode his bike into town at lunchtime to go to the bank and withdraw some money for his car repairs. He parked outside the bank and looked anxiously out of the window every two seconds. part of him hoping to catch Brock in the act of vandalism so he would at least have an excuse to punch the guy. He was getting ready to go back to school when he heard a friendly voice.

"Wow, nice bike. You didn't mention this." It was Bucky, with paint pots in hand and a smile that nearly broke Steve's heart.

Steve grinned and patted the seat. "It's my baby."

Bucky admired the bike for a moment. "I guess it's riding weather now, right?"

"Yeah," Steve said a little weakly.

Bucky's brow furrowed a little. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's...everything's fine."

"Where's your car?"

Steve tried to laugh but it sounded thin. "What, I'm not allowed to ride my motorcycle once in a while?"

Bucky put his paint pots down and lowered his voice. "You can't lie for shit, Steve. Where's your fucking car?"

Steve stared down at his bike helmet for a moment. "In the shop."

"Why?" Bucky asked. He was sounding more upset and angry by the second and Steve knew that he knew.

Steve met his eyes. "Someone keyed it," he said quietly.

Bucky looked across the street and breathed hard through his nose. "What did it say? I know it said something."

Bucky was right; Steve was a terrible liar and he didn't want to insult Bucky's intelligence by trying to deflect from the truth. "Faggot."

Bucky suddenly lashed out and kicked one of the paint pots at his feet. Luckily the lid stayed on and it just skittered into the gutter. "Fucking asshole," he hissed.

"Bucky, it's - "

"No, Steve. The shit aimed at me I can handle but now they're turning on you? What's to say that next time Rumlow won't call your school and start making accusations against you? I just can't..."

Steve stepped towards him. "Look, we can figure something out. Maybe there's enough to actually go to the police," he said softly.

But Bucky was inconsolable. "No. You have to stay away from me. It's better for everyone."

"What? No! You can't live like this, holding back just because some asshole who's so deep in the closet is worried that someone might find out about him. We need to report all of this; it's bad enough that it's been left this long and Rumlow is getting away with it - "

Bucky just shook his head. "I don't _want_ to report it. It's my fucking life, just let me handle it the way I want!"

"Because that's been going so well," Steve snapped back. "Am I just supposed to sit back and let Rumlow harass me too?"

 "That's why I'm telling you to stay away from me!"

"It's not just about me, Bucky. You can't let Rumlow keep doing this to you."

Bucky glared at him. "So what, are you going to go behind my back and go to the police, even though I don't want you to?"

Steve deflated a little. "Of course not."

"Steve, stay away. Just leave me alone and...just leave me alone, okay?" Bucky's voice broke and he started to walk away, leaving his paint pots behind, his shoulders drawn up.

Steve stared helplessly after him, knowing that if he tried to follow it would just make things worse.

***

The rest of that day and Wednesday were pretty wretched; Steve wondered if Brock had seen them arguing and was pleased with his handy work. Steve could barely concentrate, snapping at his students for silly things and then feeling bad about it. Clint left a message about meeting up later in the week and Steve sent back a lame excuse for not wanting to. He desperately wanted to speak to Bucky but deliberately stayed away, knowing it would only drive him away further if Steve were to try and approach him. They had been connecting - that was the worst part. They had become friends and now it was ruined. Steve had come to admit that his feelings for Bucky were starting to run deeper than that though. He was attracted to Bucky and he had the feeling that Bucky was maybe attracted to him too. But now...he didn't know what was going to happen between them, if anything.

On Thursday night, Steve had dinner and was watching something on TV but barely paying attention, too distracted to invest his attention on anything. His phone rang and he picked it up without looking, guessing it was Clint and that he should really talk to him and maybe tell him what had been going on.

"Hello?"

"Hey Steve."

Steve was silent for a moment and then sat up. "Sam?"

"Hey. I hope it's not a bad time." Sam sounded worried.

"Sam, hi. Hi! No, it's not a bad time. How are you?" Steve was elated. He hadn't expected Sam to be the first to call and just hearing his voice immediately made him feel better.

"I'm good, man," Sam replied and he sounded relieved, like he hadn't known how Steve would react to him getting in touch. "How are you? You're teaching over in Woodbury, right?"

Steve leaned back on the couch. "Yeah, I'm okay. The job is going well and Woodbury is nice enough. It's...it's good to hear from you, Sammy."

"Yeah, you too. I, um, I wanted to let you know that I've started to see someone. Figured I owed you that."

"You don't owe me anything but I appreciate the call." Steve felt a brief pang of sadness but they were both moving on with their lives and he wanted to be friends again, eventually. "So who's the lucky guy? "

"You're gonna laugh; he's a pilot."

"What, like a real pilot? Like flying commercial airplanes?"

"Yep. His name is Riley."

Steve smirked. "Have you joined the Mile High Club yet?"

Sam snorted. "You are so predictable. I knew you would say that."

"Well, someone had to. Wow, a pilot," Steve said. "You sound happy."

"I am," Sam said. "You weren't easy to get over," he added softly.

Steve sighed. "It wasn't all bad, was it? We made each other happy for a long time."

"Yeah, we did," Sam said and Steve could tell he was smiling. "Remember Las Vegas?"

Steve burst out laughing. "I'll be lucky if I can ever _forget_ Las Vegas. That was a wild weekend."

"Even after we'd just broken up, I was still telling people about that."

"I'm glad," Steve said with a grin. "It's a great story."

"Okay, I'm dying to know: Are _you_ seeing anyone?"

Steve blew out a breath. "No. I mean, there's someone I'm interested in but it's all...things are complicated. I might have blown my chance."

"Want to talk about it?" Sam asked and Steve appreciated the offer - Sam was a great listener - but he didn't want to get into it all now.

"Not really. No offence."

"None taken. Do you care about this guy?"

Steve rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I do."

"Steve, how long did we dance around each other before either of us made any kind of move? Well, I say _we_ , I'd made my feelings pretty clear early on. "

Steve grinned again. "Three months, two weeks and four days. I kept count."

"We wasted a lot of time and the whole thing with Riley made me realize that I didn't want to do the dance again and I just went for it and here we are. Don't do that thing where you feel like you can't make yourself happy, Steve. I know you."

Steve was briefly annoyed but he knew Sam was right. "I don't know what to do."

"Can you make a grand romantic gesture?"

Steve chuffed. "I doubt that would go down so well right now."

"I'm sure you'll think of something. Just don't sit on it if you think something's there, okay? I know you like to move slow but don't leave it nearly four months like you did with us," Sam said.

"Oh, fuck you," Steve laughed.

Sam laughed too and it felt good to be able to do it again. "Look, I have to go but it was great speaking to you. Really."

Steve smiled. "Yeah, it was. Maybe I'll call you in a few weeks?"

"I'd like that," Sam said softly. "Take care, Steve."

"Bye Sammy."

Steve hung up and slumped back onto the couch. Sam was right; Steve didn't want to sit on this. Bucky had been doing the same thing that Steve was usually guilty of: Making himself unhappy because he thought he deserved it. Steve didn't want that. It was obvious that Bucky was desperately lonely but remained that way because he thought he had to be, pushing Steve away because he thought it would be easier. Well, Steve could be one hell of a stubborn bastard. That's why he was such a good teacher. He looked at the time on his phone: 9:55pm.

With a nod of resolve to himself, he got up and grabbed his bike helmet and leather jacket before heading down to the garage.

***

The roads weren't too busy this time of the night and route 40 was quiet as Steve drove along. He turned onto the dirt track to Bucky's property, slowing down in case there were any animals in the road. The lights were on in Bucky's trailer and as Steve pulled up, Bucky came out, hands tucked under his armpits. He didn't look angry, just vulnerable and worried; his hard exterior cracked.

"I told you to stay away," he said from the front step of his trailer as Steve turned off his bike and took off his helmet.

Steve swung his leg over his bike and stood with his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, I don't hear so good."

Bucky watched him for a moment and then disappeared back inside but left the door open. Steve walked up and into the trailer, closing the door behind him. Bucky was leaning against the small kitchen counter, his eyes hard.

"Why are you here, Steve?"

"Because I don't want an asshole like Brock Rumlow to get away with ruining someone's life," Steve said.

Bucky looked away. "I don't want you to get caught up in all of this."

Steve ran a hand through his hair. "I already am. And I'm not going to run away from it. I like you, Bucky."

He looked back at Steve then. "I'm trash, Steve."

Steve stepped towards him. "You're not," he said softly. "That's just what someone else has said and you're starting to believe it."

"I am. I'm..." his voice was wet and he flinched when Steve raised his hand but all he did was tuck Bucky's hair behind his ear. "What are you doing?" he whispered.

Steve rested his hand on Bucky's neck. "I care about you."

"Steve..."

Steve lowered his hand. "If this isn't what you want, tell me and I'll leave right now. I just wanted to - "

Bucky leaned in and kissed him softly and then pulled away. "I want it. But...I don't want to drag you down. You're too nice for your own good, Steve."

"You're not dragging me anywhere I don't want to go." Steve stepped close to Bucky again. "I'm here and I don't plan on going anywhere."

Bucky grabbed Steve by the waist and pulled him in, kissing him almost desperately. Steve kissed him back, tasting coffee and something sweet, enjoying the contrast of the softness of Bucky's lips to the slight stubble that scraped against his skin. Bucky was the first to pull away again, swallowing hard and licking his lips.

"Steve, I don't want you to get hurt."

Steve gently brushed Bucky's hair away from his face. "I won't. And I won't let you get hurt anymore either."

"But..."

Steve kissed him again before Bucky could say another word.

***

They lay on Bucky's bed, Steve running his hand up and down Bucky's back through the soft material of his t-shirt while Bucky fiddled with Steve's shirt collar, his knuckles occasionally grazing Steve's neck.

"You were right," Bucky said softly.

"About what?" Steve shifted so he was facing him.

Bucky looked at him with those piercing eyes. "About Brock. About everything".

"Can I ask...how did you get involved with him?"

Bucky sighed. "I met him at Sharon's. We got to talking and he was nice; funny, kind of rough but confident in a way I wasn't. I was lonely and it wasn't terrible before he got nasty. It was never going to be a relationship but it had felt like more than being fuck-buddies to me. I guess I was wrong." He rested his head on Steve's shoulder. "I thought ignoring what he was doing would make him see that I wasn't going to say anything and spill out his dirty little secret but it somehow made things worse."

Steve stroked his hand through Bucky's hair. "Paranoia; he probably thought that your lack of doing anything was a build up to something."

"I should have reported him to the cops from the beginning. Now he's starting on you," Bucky said miserably.

Steve tipped Bucky's head up so he met Steve's eyes. "Going forward, we need to stop ignoring this. It can't go on. Okay?"

Bucky nodded, his eyes grateful. "I just felt like I never had anyone on my side." He kissed Steve, one hand resting on his chest. He was so gentle.

Steve snuggled against him. "Tell me about yourself. The stuff I don't already know."

They spoke until late into the night; Bucky came from Indiana and had moved when his parents had died. He had originally wanted to be a set designer for theatre or film but couldn't afford school or was even able to get a scholarship.

"I guess doing what I do is the next best thing, kind of," he said.

"And you said you weren't creative," Steve smiled.

"Hey, I didn't have a clue about set design. I was hoping I'd learn about it in college. Anyway, you had a show in New York. That's pretty impressive."

Steve laughed. "You do remember the part about selling only one painting to my friend?"

They kissed for a while, enjoying each other's company; Steve couldn't help but smile every time Bucky made a soft surprised noise at Steve's hand on his neck or when he gently caressed his cheek. Steve guessed that Brock had never kissed him like this.

"Shit, it's late. I'd better go," Steve said when he saw the digital clock on Bucky's bedside table. It was 3:30am. "I need to pick up my car from the shop first thing."

Bucky raised himself up on one elbow and his face clouded with guilt. "How much was the damage? I want to - "

Steve cut him off. "You don't have to anything. Just promise me that whatever Brock does next, we take it to the official channels."

Bucky nodded and got up, walking Steve to the door. He grabbed Steve's hand before he left. "Meet me for lunch tomorrow?"

Steve grinned and leaned in for one more kiss, wishing that he could stay. "You got it."

Bucky smiled and Steve had to tear himself away. He rode back to his apartment, truly happy for the first time since he and Sam had broken up.

***

School seemed to crawl by the next day. Steve had picked up his car and was having a not-so-successful morning trying to get the kids to life draw. Everything was hilarious even though the models were fully clothed and only three or four kids were taking it seriously. He was eagerly awaiting lunch so he could see Bucky again, aware that his mind should be on his job but he would catch himself thinking about those blue-grey eyes and brown hair. When he finally drove into town to meet Bucky at the diner, he felt giddy.

He saw Bucky's truck parked outside the hardware store and pulled up behind it. From the diner they would be able to see both vehicles clearly and anyone who tried to tamper with them. Steve trotted across the street; Bucky was waiting outside the diner for him, smiling widely, some of his old hardness back but his eyes were soft and sure. Steve was glad that he hadn't been embarrassed by showing his vulnerable side.

"Hey handsome," Steve said and bumped shoulders with Bucky. He refrained from any PDA, not wanting to make Bucky uncomfortable if he wasn't really into that.

Bucky bumped him back. "Hey handsome yourself."

They grinned at each other and went into the diner, asking for a window booth. They ordered their food and Bucky took his baseball cap off, putting it on the seat next to him. He glanced up at Steve.

"Last night was great," he said quietly.

Steve smiled. "Yeah, it was."

Bucky smiled back almost shyly and Steve wanted to touch him but settled for knocking his foot gently under the table instead. He had never been one to hide his sexuality from anyone but he respected how much Bucky wanted people to know about his and was more than happy to let him take the lead on what he wanted to do in public. Bucky seemed to realize this and relaxed a little.

Their food came and they chatted for a while; Bucky had a new job starting in the next week building a wraparound porch for a large house in town. Steve told him about some of the things he overheard the kids saying in school and how old it made him feel even though he was only thirty-two.

When they were done and had paid the check, they walked back across the street to their cars.

"Will you come to my place for dinner tomorrow night?" Steve asked.

Bucky nodded. "Love to." He hesitated and then reached out and took Steve's hand, giving it a brief squeeze before letting go. "See you tomorrow." He climbed into his truck and pulled away.

Steve watched for a moment and then got into his car and headed back to school.

Neither of them had seen Brock watching from the convenience store.

***

The next week was amazing; they saw each other as much as they could and while they didn't make it obvious that they were together in town, in Bucky's trailer or Steve's apartment they couldn't stop kissing and touching, laughing softly together and pulling each other close.

Steve texted Clint to apologize and explain that he was seeing someone and Clint, amazing friend that he was, just sent back a million smiley face emojis and told him not to worry.

If Steve and Bucky weren't meeting for lunch, they had dinner together. They talked too late into the night (Steve was on double espressos in the mornings) and texted each other throughout the day. Steve was happy; Bucky had a sweet side that he'd hidden away after his disastrous non-relationship with Brock, intent on not getting hurt again.

"Until you came along," Bucky had said one evening when they were a tangle of limbs on Steve's couch, his face buried in Steve's neck.

Steve had smiled. "I'm a lucky son of a bitch."

Steve was so caught up with how good it was to be with someone again, he let his guard down.

Friday night, they made plans to have dinner at Bucky's. "I'll bring the food; I can pick up some stuff after school and come straight to yours," Steve said on the phone that lunchtime. He was huddled by the coffeemaker in the staff room, aware that Carol was taking too long to make her salad and listening to every word he was saying.

"Sounds great," Bucky said. "I'll knock off early. Mrs Kramer won't mind."

Steve grinned. "I can't wait. See you later."

"Bye Steve." He could always tell when Bucky was smiling over the phone. He hung up.

"New gal?" Carol asked, not even attempting to hide the fact that she had been listening.

"New beau," Steve said.

Carol raised her eyebrows and smiled. "Well, he's a lucky fellow whoever he is."

Steve stopped at the grocery store in town on his way to Bucky's later that afternoon. He had just stowed his grocery bags in the trunk of his car when he heard the voice he had been dreading hearing again from behind him.

"Looks like you and that trailer trash are getting along just fine."

Steve turned to see Rumlow sneering at him from a few feet away. Steve took in his mean eyes, the greasily slicked hair, the way he stood like he owned the place. His stomach rolled at the thought that he had ever been allowed to touch Bucky.

"What the fuck do you want? Here to wreck my car again?"

Rumlow's slimey smile grew wider. "Gee, I hope it didn't cost you too much to fix."

Steve's fury flared but he just turned his back on Rumlow and opened his car door, ignoring him.

"Say hi to your faggy buddy for me. Tell him I might see him soon, in one way or another," Rumlow crooned quietly behind him.

In a flash, Steve slammed his car door and had Rumlow by the collar, hustling him into a nearby alleyway. He slammed Rumlow up against the wall hard and felt pleased when he saw the look of shock on Rumlow's face. He didn't think anyone had seen them but he needed to make this quick.

"You stay away from Bucky and you stay away from me, you got that? The next time you or your girlfriend do anything, we're going straight to the cops," Steve's voice was low and full of menace.

Rumlow's face reverted back to it's feral sneer. "Like you could prove anything."

Steve was getting angrier by the second; people didn't realize just how hard it was for him to keep his temper in check sometimes and how much he actually held back. He kept his fists tight on Rumlow's jacket lapels and shoved him hard into the wall again, hearing the back of Rumlow's skull connect with the brick. This time, his face was filled with fear as he watched Steve.

"You think I don't know why you're harassing Bucky so much?" he hissed and was filled with a kind of manic glee when he saw Rumlow's eyes widen and his neck turn red. "He should have reported you a long time ago but he's too good of a person for that. He had no intention of ever telling anyone your little _secret_ , yet you kept pushing him. I can tell you right now that you shouldn't have started to push _me_."

He let go of Rumlow and he slumped against the wall, holding the back of his head. He didn't say a word, just glared at Steve like he wanted to strangle him.

Steve looked down at him. "You're pathetic. Leave us both alone. That's the last time I'll say it." He walked out of the alleyway and back to his car, his hands shaking as he got in and started the engine. As he pulled away, he saw Rumlow stagger out of the alley and watch him drive away, his face unreadable.

It was only when he was halfway to Bucky's that Steve realized he had maybe just made a huge mistake.

***

"Steve, just calm down," Bucky said as Steve paced in the small space of Bucky's trailer.

"I'm such a fucking idiot," Steve said. "I should have just walked away but no, I lost my temper. He could report me for assault. I assaulted him!"

Bucky rested his hands on Steve's shoulders, stopping him. "Believe me, he wouldn't tell anyone because then there's the risk that I would spill the beans on our...whatever we had. And it might sound bad, but I'm glad you did what you did. I never had the courage to stand up to him."

Steve sighed and shook his head. "It was a dick move on my part. I got angry; he called you trailer trash. Which you aren't. Your trailer isn't even trashy and he used that other fucking word again - "

Bucky brought a hand to Steve's face and he relaxed a little staring into Bucky's eyes. "Look, whatever happens, happens. If he calls the cops and they come, then we'll deal with it. You scared him which I don't think he expected so he might just back off now."

"But what if I've made things worse? I never wanted to make it more difficult for you..."

Bucky smiled a little then. "You've made things better for me."

Steve felt his heart swell a little. "Buck..."

"You have. Whatever happens, I know I've got you and that...that makes it all a little more bearable."

Steve was suddenly exhausted. He wrapped his arms around Bucky and hugged him hard. "I'm sorry I fucked up." He felt Bucky's lips on his temple.

"You didn't. Can we make dinner now? I'm starving."

Steve pulled away and started to laugh. "Sure." Bucky turned to rummage through the grocery bags but Steve pulled him back. "You've made things better for me too."

Bucky leaned in and kissed him, letting Steve know without words how he felt.

***

They went to the bar on Saturday night to play pool with the guys and it was a nice evening. They played without putting down money (Dugan took a lot of convincing), and all pitched in on rounds. Bucky went to get his from the bar and as soon as he was out of earshot, Dugan was at Steve's side.

"You and Barnes..." he said.

Steve tensed a little. "Yeah?"

Dugan squinted. "The two of you are..." He made a gesture with his hand, trying to put it into words.

"Queers?" Steve supplied.

Dugan chuffed. "I was going to say "in a relationship" but if that works for you."

Steve laughed a little but then eyed Dugan. "Is that a problem?"

"Hell no," Dugan said, setting up the table. "We've all been wondering for a couple of weeks is all. My brother's gay. Been married for eight years. Happy as a clam."

Steve smiled, relieved. "That's good to hear."

"The only thing I got against the two of you is how much of my money you've fucked me out of."

"Well, I'm not apologizing for that," Steve laughed.

Dugan snorted. "Thought so. But you're both happy?"

Steve glanced up as Bucky was walking back towards them with a tray full of beers, catching his eye and getting a devastating grin in return. "As clams."

***

"You sly dog," Clint drawled over the phone. "Congrats!"

"It's still early but it's...it's really good."

"So do I get to meet him soon?"

Steve hummed. "Hopefully. He's a little shy. Thought I'd let the relationship settle a bit before I let you guys pounce on him."

Clint laughed. "We do like to pounce. It's been going well?"

"Yeah, apart from one thing." He gave Clint a brief rundown of everything that had happened with Brock.

"Wow, that dude sounds like a Grade-A asshole."

Steve put his feet up on his coffee table. "He is. I just hope I haven't fanned the flames."

Clint sounded like he was doing the dishes. "It sounds like he needed a slap in the face, metaphorically speaking. Also, I know you and you don't stand for that shit. It was bound to happen."

"That doesn't make me feel any better for doing it. I sunk to his level."

"Well, look; you and Bucky have a game plan now, right? That dick knows it so maybe now he'll back off and get a life."

"Yeah, maybe. I just...I don't feel good about any of this."

"Who would?" Clint said. "You can't let it ruin things for you though."

Steve sighed. "I know. Hey, did you catch the game?" The change in subject was swift; Steve didn't want to think about Rumlow anymore.

It didn't ease the sick feeling in his stomach though.

***

Steve felt like that for the next week. He was constantly waiting for the cops to show up but they never did, proving Bucky's point that Rumlow wouldn't do anything but Steve was still always looking over one shoulder while trying to get on with his life, that sick feeling not going away. He didn't think that Brock would be so easy to shake and he couldn't help but think that something was building up, like a pressure cooker that had been forgotten on the stove, ready to explode.

He tried not to let it effect his time with Bucky though, enjoying how easy their relationship seemed to adjust around them and how different he was from Sam. Bucky was quieter but had moments of mischief and was still a lot of fun. He was intense too and a friendly scuffle on the couch would quickly turn into a passionate make-out session that would leave Steve breathless and unable to speak, letting Bucky take over.

A couple of weeks went by and Steve started to ease up a little. He didn't see Brock around town and Erica had less shifts at the bar and life went on. One afternoon, he was helping Bucky unload some timber from his pick-up out at his place and Bucky nodded to something behind Steve.

"Looks like I've got competition."

Steve turned and there was a squirrel sitting a few feet behind him, watching him curiously. Steve smiled and straightened up but the squirrel scampered away into the trees.

"Nah, I think you're safe for my affections," Steve said.

Bucky's eyes were bright and he winked. "Good."

Steve thought then that he was maybe falling in love.

***

The weather was starting to get hotter and extreme bouts of humid air and cloying mugginess were frequently broken up with periods of hammering rain before the air cleared again and built back up.

Bucky was coming over for a breakfast date at Steve's one Saturday morning and he was happily making pancakes with the windows open, trying to let in any cool air. He had on a blues CD that was playing softly and Steve occasionally hummed along. He all but ran from the kitchen when his buzzer went. He let Bucky in and opened the front door, waiting for him to come up the stairs. Bucky grinned when he saw him.

"I parked my pick-up out front next to your car. Is that okay?" Bucky asked.

Steve kissed him lightly on the lips." Of course it is." He stepped aside to let Bucky in and they walked through to the kitchen.

"Pancakes?" Bucky asked.

Steve nodded. "Bacon and eggs too."

Bucky came and stood with Steve at the stove, putting a hand to the small of Steve's back as he cracked eggs into the pan. He was quiet as he watched Steve cook.

"Everything okay?" Steve asked softly after a few minutes.

Bucky looked at him and smiled. "Happy." He slipped his arm around Steve's waist.

Steve put an arm across Bucky's shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. "Me too."

***

They ate breakfast and tidied up and then watched a few old movies which, admittedly, went unwatched for the most part. They ate lunch a little later that afternoon than they meant to and sprawled together on the couch again.

"I keep thinking about what would have happened to me if you hadn't come here," Bucky said, his head resting on Steve's chest.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked, stroking a hand through Bucky's hair. He loved Bucky's hair.

"I think I would have left Woodbury. Gone somewhere where no-one knew me and started over," Bucky answered, his voice low. "I almost did. That night in the bar when I first saw you? I had been all but ready to go."

"What made you decide not too?"

Bucky propped himself up on one elbow, his face close to Steve's. "I don't know. I slept on it, figured I'd just get on with things. Then I kept running into you and you weren't a dick."

Steve laughed. "Thanks?"

Bucky poked him. "You know what I mean. You...you gave me a chance. You'd heard shit about me but you didn't seem to care."

"I like to hear both sides of every story," Steve said. He kissed Bucky softly, liking his weight on top of him. "I'm glad I did."

Bucky gazed down at him. "I'm glad you did too."

***

They untangled themselves from each other a couple of hours later, straightening shirts and tidying down mussed hair.

"Want to go for a walk before we stagnate?" Steve asked.

Bucky nodded. "Anywhere in particular?"

Steve looked outside, debating whether or not to take his jacket. The sun was shining and the sky was cloudless. "How about the park?"

When they left Steve's apartment and headed out onto the street, Bucky walked close but kept his hands in his pockets. Steve did the same.

"Does it bother you that I don't hold your hand or do anything physical in public?" Bucky asked.

"No. Not everyone likes to do stuff like that. You can't keep your hands off me in private so that's good enough for me." He smirked.

Bucky barked out a laugh. "You manhandle just as much as I do, Rogers."

"Not as much as you," Steve said. "You're like an octopus." He shoved Bucky and ran off into the park, sniggering over his shoulder.

"Jerk!" Bucky shouted and ran after him.

They horsed around for a while, flitting between the families out with their dogs and groups of kids playing touch football. Steve loved being out with Bucky like this and had all but forgotten about Brock and anything else bad: It was a gorgeous day and he was 90% of the way to being totally in love.

They walked the nature trail late into the afternoon, looping around and around, talking and joking. Bucky mentioned a few bigger building projects he wanted to try and work on in the next year and Steve told him about the after-school art program that the principal had agreed to let him start in the fall. Neither of them realized just how heavy the sky had become with clouds or how the daylight was failing until a heavy downpour started to penetrate the canopy of trees.

"Shit," Steve exclaimed. "We might as well stay here until it passes. It's a half hour walk back to my place." He shivered a little as he tried to huddle close to a tree, wishing now that he'd brought his jacket with him.

"I've got a better idea," Bucky said and headed off of the nature trail. "Follow me."

Steve followed him through the trees and rain, wondering where they were going when he realized just how close to Bucky's place they must be. He remembered the morning he had run out here. Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later they stumbled soaked through to the skin to Bucky's trailer. The rain seemed to be passing but it was growing dark as Bucky unlocked the door and they hustled inside.

Steve stood and tried not to drip over the hardwood floor, his hair plastered to his head. Bucky didn't seem to care, stripping off his shirt and starting on his jeans.

"Steve, I can hear your teeth chattering from here. Get those wet clothes off and I'll grab you some sweats. I'll hang these up in the bathroom and hope they dry out a little." Bucky threw him a hand towel for his head.

Steve felt his pulse quicken as Bucky pulled down his boxers and started to dry his hair. They hadn't got to the point of seeing each other undressed yet. Steve took off his shirt and jeans while Bucky went to hang up his own clothes and then stood awkwardly with his boxer briefs in one hand and the towel in the other, covering himself, suddenly a little shy. Bucky took his clothes to the bathroom and when he came back, completely unabashed by his nakedness, walked up to Steve, that challenging look he sometimes got on his face.

"Can I dry my hair?" he asked and indicated to the hand towel, as if Steve wasn't naked and damp in front of him.

Steve passed it over and let himself gaze at Bucky's body. He knew it kind of well - they hadn't exactly been chaste with their affections thus far - but seeing him like this was another story.

Bucky finished drying his hair and threw the towel aside. He let his eyes drift up and down Steve's body in the dim light. Neither of them bothered to turn on a lamp. Steve reached out for Bucky's hand and pulled him in, wrapping his arms around Bucky's waist.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"Hey yourself," Bucky said back and gasped a little as they pressed together. When he spoke again, his voice was low and wobbled a little. "Want to stay over?"

Steve just nodded and kissed Bucky, suddenly more aroused than he'd ever been before. Bucky responded just as enthusiastically and started to lead Steve down the small hallway to the bedroom at the back of his trailer. He pushed Steve onto the bed and crawled on top of him, not breaking the kiss for a second, both of them still a little slick from the rain. Bucky's hair was still damp and it brushed against Steve's cheek in wet tendrils.

Steve pushed Bucky away slightly. "Buck..." he gasped, catching his breath, watching Bucky's face as much as he could in the growing darkness. "I think I'm in love with you."

There was no mistaking the smile on Bucky's face and he kissed Steve on the neck, making his way up his jaw with his lips and then to his ear. "I'm in love with you too," he said.

***

Steve wasn't sure what time it was when they finally stopped, both exhausted but happy. Bucky grabbed them some pyjama pants and a couple of bottles of water, navigating his trailer in the dark. The night sky had cleared and a three quarter moon shone through the blinds of Bucky's bedroom window. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky when he climbed back into bed.

"Now who's the octopus," Bucky mumbled sleepily.

Steve chuckled. "Okay, fine. We're both octopusses. Octopi? What's the plural for octopus?"

"Who cares," Bucky said. "No octopus has the ass that you have."

Steve started to laugh and Bucky soon joined in, both of them a little hysterical from tiredness and happiness. When they finally calmed down, Bucky buried his head in Steve's neck and let out a long, sleepy breath.

"I love you."

"I love you too," Steve said before they both fell asleep.

***

It was still dark when Steve woke but something felt wrong. For a second, he blinked blearily into the room, the moon still shining through the slats of the blinds and Bucky snoring softly beside him. What was different? He sat up and panicked when he took a breath: The room was filling with smoke. Suddenly he was wide awake and shaking Bucky.

"What the f - " Bucky mumbled groggily.

"Buck, get up. We have to get out of here. I think your trailer's on fire." Steve scrambled out of bed, coughing slightly as he stood.

Bucky was behind him in a flash. "Oh my god, how - " He cut himself off when Steve opened the bedroom door and they saw the flames down the hall, the living area already consumed and the kitchenette starting to smoulder.

"Come on!" Steve shouted, trying to cover his mouth. Bucky was behind him, rummaging through a drawer. "Bucky, now!"

"I need something," Bucky said, panic in his voice. He pulled a shoebox out of one of his drawers and clutched it.

Steve turned back and grabbed his phone and they both ran down the short hallway. The heat was unbelievable and with that and the smoke, Steve had to concentrate on keeping calm enough to kick the trailer door open. They both burst out into the yard and scrambled away towards the workshed, coughing and gagging. Bucky looked back at his home, fear and confusion on his face as he sank to the ground, watching the flames grow.

"What the hell...how..."

Steve was shakily dialling 911 into his cell phone when he saw movement just up beyond the end of the trailer that was completely ablaze. A figure, running off towards the dirt track to the highway.

He knew who it was. Anger took Steve over and he thrust his phone at Bucky before taking off with a snarl.

"Steve!" Bucky shouted behind him but the red veil had already descended and he couldn't even feel the stones and sharp twigs that dug into his feet as he ran, gaining on the figure.

Steve leapt and tackled Brock to the ground, both of them falling hard, Steve's weight crushing the other man into the gravel. Brock cried out and Steve flipped him over, pressing one knee down hard into his chest and punched him as hard as he could, the force of his knuckles on Brock's cheek reverberating up his arm.

"You could have killed us!" Steve screamed and pulled back to strike again.

Brock looked terrified but didn't fight back. "I didn't know...I didn't know you were both in there!"

Steve punched him again and suddenly Bucky was behind him, trying to pull him away as he hit Brock, disbelief that this had happened fuelling his rage.

"Get off of me!" Steve cried out. "He tried to kill us!"

"I didn't know you were in there," Brock sobbed, his left eye already swelling shut. "His truck was at your place. You were both supposed to be at your place." He made no effort to fight back, crying openly into the dirt.

"And that's supposed to make it all better? That we weren't here when you burnt Bucky's home to the ground? You followed us around! You fucking planned this!" Steve shouted.

Bucky grabbed Steve's fist before he could let fly again and Steve turned, his anger fading a little. Bucky looked strangely calm and he threaded his fingers through Steve's.

"The police and fire department are on their way. He's not worth it, Steve. Look at him."

Steve turned and looked down at Brock again. He was sobbing, not even trying to move away. Steve was suddenly disgusted, with himself and Brock and got up, stumbling into Bucky's arms.

"I'm sorry," he said into Bucky's shoulder. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" He brushed Bucky's hair from his face.

"I'm fine," Bucky said and kissed Steve. He stared down at Brock, his face hard but not angry. It was all over now. "I was never going to tell anyone," he said.

Brock glanced up at him but didn't say anything else, just curled on his side and sniffled into the ground.

***

The fire department arrived before the police, putting out the blaze but it was already too late - there was barely anything left. They had been lucky that nothing had blown up, that the propane tanks had remain untouched. They'd both be dead otherwise.

Steve and Bucky were both checked for smoke inhalation and recommended to go to the hospital but they declined for the time being, exhausted, and slumped together by Bucky's workshed, covered in scratchy blankets. They watched as Brock was taken away by the police. It turned out that he and Erica had set fire to the trailer together, neither of them realizing that Steve and Bucky were inside. Erica had fled down the track to the highway before Brock and made off in her car before being stopped for speeding by a state trooper who put two and two together when the call about the fire had come in. Steve and Bucky both made their statements, mentioning the previous harassments from Brock but all of that seemed minor compared to this. Steve never imagined he would go this far.

"What do you think will happen to him?" Bucky asked. He sounded tired. Police and firemen were still milling around.

"I don't know," Steve replied. "Prison time for sure. However you look at it, he could have killed us whether it was intentional on his part or not. He's out of our lives now, though."

Bucky nodded and sighed. It was deep with relief.

"I'm so sorry, Buck," Steve said softly. "It's all gone."

Bucky looked over to the smouldering remains of his trailer. "It was just stuff. I'm insured." He patted the shoebox beside him. "All of the things really important to me are in here."

"What is it?" Steve asked.

"Family photos mainly. Some keepsakes. As for that - " he indicated to the trailer, " - gives me an excuse to start on a bigger project for myself that I've had in mind." He turned to Steve and smiled, a little rough around the edges and with dark circles under his eyes but sincere.

Steve managed to smile back. "You can stay with me as long as you need to." He brushed a smear of dirt away from Bucky's cheek. "You're amazing, you know that?"

Bucky started to protest but Steve leaned in and kissed him, never wanting to let him go. "You are."

Bucky held Steve back, nuzzling his neck. "You're the most important thing to me."

Steve rested his head against Bucky's and started to hum Baby Blue. Bucky grinned.

"Can that be our song?"

"Sure," Steve said and Bucky hummed along with him for a little while.

"I'm so tired," Bucky mumbled and Steve could feel him growing heavier against him. "What a fucking night."

"Let's go," Steve said and pulled Bucky to his feet.

They stood and walked over the charred wreck and considered it one more time before wandering over to the police cars scattered around to see if they could grab a ride to Steve's place.

***

Steve drove down route 40, trying his best not to speed; he only had 40 minutes for lunch and he wanted to spend it with Bucky before he went back to school. He had art club later and wouldn't be home until late. He turned off of the highway and followed the familiar dirt track.

Bucky was working on the roof of his biggest project: A two storey house on the land where his trailer had once been. Every time Steve saw it there was something new and it excited him to see how Bucky had built it up from his own design, watching the bones of the house slowly come together. He still had other work but thanks to the insurance on his trailer, had set aside more time for himself. He looked up and waved when he heard Steve pull up and descended down to meet him.

"Is it lunch time already?" he asked, wiping off his brow with a cloth from his back pocket. "Kind of lost track of time."

They kissed and Steve would never quite be able to tell Bucky how much he liked it when he had worked up a sweat. He already got teased enough for the other things about Bucky that got him excited.

"Got us some steak sandwiches." Steve followed Bucky over to a shady area by the workshed and sat down beside him. "Damn, I swear you're building this thing quicker than I can keep up with," he said, looking at the wooden structure.

Bucky pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket as he took a bite of his sandwich. "Check this out. Think I'm going to add a full wraparound porch." He showed Steve a rough sketch.

Steve smirked and kissed Bucky on the cheek. "You're so smart."

Bucky chuffed but scooted closer to Steve and they ate in silence for a while, enjoying the quiet.

"Clint might come over tomorrow to watch the game if that's okay?" Steve said.

"Course it is. I like Clint."

Steve stretched out his legs. "He likes you too. The guys also want to know if we're up for a pool tournament on Saturday night."

"Naturally," Bucky said, probably already thinking about how much of Dugan's money he could potentially win. He was quiet for a moment. "I've been thinking..."

Steve turned to Bucky. "Everything okay?"

"Sure. It's just this house is bigger than I initially anticipated it being. I'm not afraid of the work I need to put in but..." He stopped.

Steve frowned in concern. "But what?"

Bucky leaned back nonchalantly. "Gonna feel like a lot of space in there all on my own when it's finished." He continued to stare ahead but gave Steve a sideways glance.

The frown faded from Steve's face. "Bucky Barnes, are you asking me to move in with you?"

Bucky finally looked at him. "Steve Rogers: When I've finished building this house, will you live in it with me?"

"Can I get a dog?"

Bucky huffed. "I guess."

Steve laughed and tackled Bucky to the ground, not caring if his clothes got dusty. He kissed Bucky hard. "I accept."

Bucky laughed with him and ran his hands through Steve's hair. "Was a dog the deal breaker?"

"No, but I would have tried to convince you very hard."

They kissed lazily for a couple of minutes before Bucky asked, in the low voice that got Steve excited, "What time do you have to be back at school?"

Steve looked at his watch. "In 20 minutes."

Bucky scrambled up, pulling Steve with him and opened the workshed. "That'll do." He started to push Steve inside. "I plan to make you work for that dog."

Steve laughed and threw Bucky a suggestive look over his shoulder. "Maybe I'll get _two_ dogs."

 

 


End file.
